


The Itch

by YumYumPM



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of my earlier stories.</p>
<p>Illya has a problem with which his partner is willing to help.  However, finding the time and place can lead to sexual frustration. Not to mention the ensuing complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Itch

When Kuryakin woke up that morning, he knew something was wrong. He just didn’t know what. By the time he reached U.N.C.L.E. headquarters though, he had a pretty good idea what the problem was. By the time he arrived at his desk he was sure. All the way down the long, steel corridors, he found himself looking at his fellow agents in a different light.

To say this was disconcerting would be an understatement. It didn’t help that he was spending most of the day doing paper work in the office he shared with his partner Napoleon Solo. He did his best to keep his problem from Solo’s attention, but was unsuccessful.

The knowledge that he knew what the problem was had made him extremely surly. A fact not lost on his partner. 

“Just what is your problem, Kuryakin?” Napoleon demanded.

“Nothing,” Illya had responded through gritted teeth.

Anyone else would have let it go at that. But not Napoleon. He had gotten up from behind his desk, walked around, and sat down on the corner of Illya’s desk. “Don’t give me that. You have been growling at everyone all day. What’s wrong?” he’d asked, his voice showing his concern.

Illya quickly thought of a hundred excuses he could use, but found it difficult to lie to Napoleon. Reluctantly and not looking up he said, “I have an….itch.”

“Is that all?” Solo had said with relief. “Tell me where and I’ll scratch it for you.”

Illya looked at Napoleon, his stare intense. Surely, Napoleon, a confirmed womanizer, had no idea what he was offering. Very slowly and deliberately Illya stated, “It’s not that sort of itch.”

“What do you mean…?” Napoleon, not usually slow on the uptake, finally caught on. “Oh!”

Illya nodded grimly.

“So what’s the problem?” Napoleon queried. “I can still help.”

“Napoleon?” Illya asked doubtfully.

“Care for a sample?” Napoleon asked brightly.

“Here!” Illya responded with a squeak.

“Sure. Why not?” Napoleon answered with a shrug. Then he went over to where Illya sat, gripped his partner’s face gently, and brought their lips together. What had been meant to be an educational kiss by Napoleon soon turned passionate. Boy was it passionate! Even Solo was surprised by the intensity. By the time the kiss ended, both men were breathing hard and that was not the only thing hard. Both men looked positively thunderstruck.

“How soon?” Illya asked in a strangled voice.

“Not soon enough,” Napoleon moaned. He closed his eyes as he tried to get control over his…ummm, breathing. No one, male or female had ever affected him like this. His mind went through all the possible places. Not in the office, surely…the map room? No…that would never do.

The sound of the intercom interrupted any further thoughts. “Mr. Waverly would like to see you and Mr. Kuryakin right away,” Lisa Rogers’ voice informed them.

“Now?” Kuryakin asked.

“Immediately.”

Silent groans issued from both men. “Lisa, can you buy us fifteen minutes?” Napoleon begged.

“I’ll try,” Lisa responded before disconnecting from her end.

“What can we possibly do in fifteen minutes?” Illya asked frantically as he got up from behind his desk, frustrated. The bulges they were both sporting would be obvious giveaways.

Napoleon glared at him and with the back of his hand slapped him across the chest. “Think of something unpleasant.”

Ten minutes later the two agents were in a more presentable condition to show up at Waverly’s office. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Waverly stated, not looking up from his perusal of the files on his desk. “You are needed to immediately replace Agents Lock and Pick at the Waldorf Astoria. The pertinent details are in this folder,” he said as he sent the folder turning toward the two agents.

“He did say the Waldorf Astoria?” Napoleon asked into Illya’s ear as they walked down the hallway to the agents exit.

Illya, perusing the file muttered. “Back off.” Having Napoleon breathing in his ear was not helping. Oddly enough, Napoleon did as he requested, which was frustrating in itself.

Napoleon understood Illya’s need for distance for the moment. He was experiencing a similar same need himself. He took the file from his partner as they got into the car, letting Illya do the driving. Agents Andrew Lock and Joseph Pick, were currently assigned surveillance at the Waldorf Astoria, Room 1112. He squirmed in his seat, trying for a comfortable position. This assignment could definitely have possibilities. 

***

They arrived at the hotel and went straight up to room 1112; Pick opened the door and immediately briefed the two agents on the situation. “Nothing much has happened so far,” he concluded.

“How long have you guys been at this?” Solo asked as he looked around at the well-appointed room, carefully ignoring the bed.

“Thirty-six hours,” said Lock through a yawn as he stretched. “This has got to be the most boring assignment I’ve ever been on.”

Solo looked over to his partner, whose blond head was bent inspecting the surveillance equipment, which consisted of a TV monitor and receiving set. Evidently, a camera and microphones had been set up in a nearby room. If nothing happened within the last thirty-six hours, Napoleon thought, there might be possibilities for use of the bed.

“Hey, Solo. Did you hear the one about…?” Pick started what looked to be a long and involved story.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Napoleon informed him as he did his best to usher the two agents out of the room. He had no sooner shut the door on them, when he was pounced on from behind. Reluctantly pulling away he muttered, “Feeling desperate are we?”

“You do not know the half of it,” growled Illya. With both hands, he pulled Napoleon’s head closer to claim his lips with an intense hunger. Napoleon’s arms went around him, pulling him close, molding their bodies together. All they needed was the bed.

Breathing hot and heavily, they only separated long enough to start disrobing. Suddenly there was a reaction from the surveillance equipment. “Damn,” Solo cursed as he pulled his jacket back on.

“No!” moaned a very frustrated Russian.

The two men quickly checked the monitors, confirming that the target was there. Following instructions, they called for backup, quickly went to the room in question, and apprehended the suspect. Between the briefing by Lock and Pick, and information garnered from the file, the two men knew exactly what to expect.

“I ain’t sayin nothing,” The suspect protested.

“You had better talk or I’ll sic Illya here on you,” Napoleon threatened.

The suspect took one look at the blond agent with the mad, frustrated look in his eyes. Soon he was singing like a bird.

“Congratulations, gentlemen,” Waverly said over the intercom when informed of their success. “I have another little errand for you.”

Illya turned away; he looked about ready to hit someone. Napoleon wasn’t exactly pleased about it either. “Sir, can’t you find someone else…?” he asked, practically pleading.

“I’m afraid not. Section II is a little shorthanded at the moment,” Waverly said sharply.

Illya stood in the corner of the room glaring at the suspect. Napoleon sat nearby rubbing his hands across his face wearily. Illya’s itch had become contagious, yet there was nothing they could do about it now. He found himself wanting his partner so badly it felt as though it was slowly killing him. If he was this frustrated, he could only imagine how frustrated Illya must be.

When their replacements arrived to take the suspect off their hands, they left an envelope sent by Waverly. Napoleon opened it and read the contents. Putting the material back in the envelope he sat where he was, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Are you going to tell me what it said or do I have to play twenty questions?” Illya growled from his corner.

“You’re not going to believe it,” Napoleon stated.

“Try me.”

“We are to report to the North Shore Cemetery.”

“Why?”

“You’ve got me.”

The two agents immediately left the room. Entering the elevator, Illya moved to a far corner, keeping his eyes and body away from his partner.

“This is not working,” Napoleon complained.

Illya glared at him, not bothering to answer.

“We should be able to achieve better control then this,” Napoleon insisted.

“That is easy for you to say,” Illya argued. “Whenever you have a problem of this type, you can always bury yourself in some woman. I do not have that option.”

Napoleon sighed, he didn’t think that option would work for him in this case either, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “You have that option; you just choose not to use it,” he sniped pettily.

***

The drive to the cemetery was made in silence; each man sitting as far from the other as possible in the car. Could this be some insidious plot on the part of Mr. Waverly? Could he possibly know? Solo wouldn’t put it past him.

It was just turning to dusk when they turned into the North Shore Cemetery. Illya parked the car by the pond where swans were swimming, and then they both got out. Napoleon looked around at all the headstones and wondered what they would put on his when his time came. “Illya.”

“What?” Illya looked spooked.

“When…I don’t want…” Napoleon wasn’t sure how to phrase his request. “Make sure when my time comes, there’s no wake, no service, no grave side attendance. No one there to say good-bye.”

“Why?” Illya asked in surprise.

“If I have to go…I would just rather go alone.”

“You are not making any sense,” Illya said shaking his head.

Napoleon didn’t respond. How could he explain that if there were someone there to say goodbye it would mean he was really gone? Illya was right, he wasn’t making any sense.

The two men made their way to a mausoleum near the back of the cemetery. Illya looked at the structure warily. “This seems all very … “

“Riverdale,” muttered Napoleon, reminding Illya of another mausoleum in another cemetery they had encountered in the past. Illya nodded his agreement. The two agents pulled their guns and entered. It was dark inside. Illya pulled out a flashlight to shine around. Without warning, the door slammed shut behind them and when they rushed over, they found it locked.

Taking out their communicators, they tried to contact U.N.C.L.E. headquarters and failed. Seeing that there was nothing they could do, Napoleon sat watching his partner pace back and forth like a tiger in a cage. His partner was in dire need and Napoleon was more then willing to do something about it. He realized that a simple jacking off of each other wasn’t going to do the trick. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tube and tossed it to his partner.

Illya, catching it, looked down, aware of what the tube meant. He was surprised at the degree of trust it implied. “Where did you get this?”

“Weren’t you ever a boy scout? You know ‘always be prepared’.” 

Illya continued to look at the tube, seriously tempted. “No, thank you,” he said and tossed the tube back to Napoleon. “I draw the line at doing it in a cemetery. I shall find some other means of taking care of my….problem.”

Napoleon got up and walked over to his partner, gripping him behind the neck to bring their faces close. “Look, you ungrateful Russian,” he growled, and then he brought their foreheads together. Sighing deeply, he reigned in his emotion. “I’m not offering out of the goodness of my heart.” He moved his head back to look into the deep blue eyes of his partner. “I need this just as much as you do.”

The two men never heard the hissing sound that sent them silently down to the floor. Nor did they see the three men who rose from the coffin in the center of the mausoleum. 

When Napoleon woke, he found himself tied up in a closet sized room. Looking around, he didn’t see his partner. Soon the door opened and Kuryakin was tossed in, much the worse for wear. Napoleon sighed, why it was the blond Russian always bare the brunt of any capture? Unable to reach him in order to check his condition, he asked anxiously, “Are you all right?”

One blue eye opened, the other was swollen shut. “Of course I’m all right,” He responded through a split lip. “They just wanted me to answer a few questions.”

“I take it they didn’t like your answers.”

“What answers?” Illya said as he tried sitting up, difficult with his hands and feet tied. “They wanted to know why we are here. I would like to know the answer to that question myself.”

“Come here and I’ll kiss it and make it better.” Napoleon couldn’t resist remarking.

Illya started to chuckle. “Oh! That hurts. Don’t make me laugh, Napoleon.”

Before they could do anything else, the door opened. Framed in the doorway was Mark Slate, Alexander Waverly standing directly behind him. “Here you are,” Mark said brightly, shaking his head. “Hiding out while the rest of us do the dirty work.” 

Helping them out of the closet, Slate briefed them on what they had missed. It turned out Waverly was using them, without their knowledge, as bait to find the entrance to a THRUSH lab.

***

Later, on their way home, Napoleon felt that they probably should be angry, but he had too many other things on his mind. When Illya started to turn the car, planning to head for Solo’s apartment, Napoleon put his hand on his arm to stop him. In answer to Illya’s questioning look Napoleon indicated that he was to continue to his own apartment.

When the two men entered, Illya looked at a nearby clock. It was hard to believe that less then twenty-four hours ago he had awoken to the knowledge that something was wrong. It was still wrong, he thought as he wearily made his way to the bedroom, closely followed by Napoleon. 

Taking off his jacket and throwing it across the bed, Illya removed his holster and set it aside then pulled up the bottom of his turtleneck, bringing it over his head. Suddenly, Napoleon was right behind him, having already removed his jacket and holster, a hand running lightly over the scars on the Russian’s back.

“They really did a number on you,” Napoleon murmured softly. Then he brought his arms around Illya, pulling the blond agent close.

Illya leaned back against the strong chest before turning into his arms. “No more then has been done to you.” He laid his head wearily on Napoleon’s shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his partner’s hands running up and down his back.

This was all well and good, but Illya wanted more. He moved back, pulling Napoleon’s shirt from his slacks, and started to undo the buttons on his shirt. They were crazy to be contemplating this.

“Absolutely,” Napoleon uttered. 

Illya had not realized that he’d spoken aloud. He ran his hands across the broad chest, his thumb caressing the nipple before lowering his head, his tongue licking the other.

Napoleon closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. Regretfully he pushed Illya away and removed his shirt. His slacks, shoes, and socks soon joined the shirt in a pile on the floor. 

While Illya undressed, Napoleon removed the coverlet from the bed. He turned and, unable to resist, pulled the Russian into his arms, claiming his lips as he again passed over the tube. The kiss was extremely arousing and when it ended, Illya asked, “Why are we here?” 

Napoleon slid onto the bed answered, “I would have thought that was obvious.”

“I mean why here? Why not your place?”

“That’s easy. Since it is your place…your bed…once you’re done you’ll have no reason to leave,” Napoleon stated. “and pretend it never happened.” He pulled Illya down to him. “You know you would.” 

“You know me too well,” Illya muttered as he leaned into a kiss. Napoleon was above all things a magnificent kisser. There was no point in arguing. “The question is…do I take you now? Or later?”

“Now,” Napoleon murmured as he turned over offering himself up.

“Are you sure?” whispered Illya, his hand caressing the scarred back.

“What…did you think I would want to take you first?” Napoleon asked in amusement, looking back at Illya.

Illya nodded.

“As you pointed out…I have other resources should I require them. No woman can give me what you can. In fact I would want no one else to do it.”

“It could be…painful,” Illya warned him.

“I hate to disappoint you, Illya, but you won’t be my first.” Napoleon was amused again. He pulled Illya close for another kiss that got him so hot and bothered that he was barely able to prepare himself with the contents of the tube, much less his partner. Just what Napoleon wanted. God it felt good, his partner inside him. Their moans mingling for what seemed like forever, but wasn’t. If this was the itch Illya had, Napoleon was willing to help him scratch anytime.

***

Much later, when Napoleon woke up, he felt a slumbering Russian still lying on his back. He needed to use the bathroom, but the weight on his back felt so good he had no desire to move it. 

Soon Napoleon felt the weight on his back shifting. Turning beneath it, he spread his legs, letting Illya settle between them. “How’s the itch?” he murmured.

“Better, thank you,” Illya said drowsily, one hand tweaking a nearby nipple.

Running his hand through the golden hair, Napoleon commented, “You know. I think I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Illya lifted up and looked Napoleon in the eye. “Don’t confuse lust for love.”

Napoleon laughed. “If it were lust I would have had you in my bed a long time ago.”

Illya laid his head back down on Napoleon’s chest. “Why did you not?”

“I’m not sure. It just never occurred to me,” Napoleon said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I wasn’t sure what your reaction would be if I did.”

“And now?”

Napoleon pulled Illya up closer. “What do you think?” He lowered his mouth to those sumptuous lips, plundering the hot cavern with his tongue and laying claim to it.

“Are you sure you are in love with me?” Illya asked as they broke for air.

“I don’t know.” Napoleon let out a heartfelt sigh. “If I am…I am in big, big trouble.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Two men in love…having sexual relations. It’s not exactly considered Kosher.”

“I know,” Illya said quietly. “So, you are having second thoughts?”

“No.”

“Would you like to take me?”

“Illya, we’ve been through this already. There’s the yearly physical to consider. If both of us showed signs…”

“Napoleon!”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not a problem for me. I told you that you weren’t my first.” Napoleon reminded him. “But it could be for you.”

Illya’s communicator went off. He reached over and pulled it from the table where he had set it. “Kuryakin here.”

“Mr. Kuryakin, you are late.” Mr. Waverly’s voice came over the communicator. “I have an urgent assignment for you. Oh, and if you happen to see Mr. Solo, please bring him along.”

Illya put his communicator away. “You do not think that he could possibly…”

“Naw, how could he?” Napoleon said as he got up to get ready.

***

The next month proved very busy and the two agents rarely saw one another. Furthermore, there was no time for…lustful pursuits. They still worked together but more and more it seemed Illya was sent one way and Napoleon another. 

Napoleon found himself a project that kept him very busy when he was left alone in New York while Illya was off traipsing about the world.

***

Illya’s plane landed, returning him back to New York after yet another mission. It was quite late and he was tired, not to mention frustrated. The itch was back in full force. He was surprised when he left the terminal and Napoleon pulled up in a convertible. Slinging his suitcase into the backseat, he got into the passenger side of the car. “How did you know when I was arriving?” he asked.

“Trade secret,” Napoleon replied with a smile, pulling away from the curb. The two agents talked shop for a while, Solo bringing Kuryakin up to speed on all the latest office gossip. Nothing about them, of course. How could there be, they hadn’t done anything. Not in quite a while.

Solo pulled off into U.N.C.L.E.’s parking garage and, taking Illya’s suitcase, locked it in the trunk. Without a word, he started walking away from headquarters, Illya following and wondering where they were going. After two blocks, the two men entered the subway station and caught the first train out. Illya opened his mouth to question their destination, but Napoleon gave a slight shake of his head. 

They exited and headed south three blocks coming to, of all places – Macy’s. Napoleon led the way to the back of the store and used a key to let them into Macy’s warehouse. It was full of all sorts of items from clothing to furniture. Napoleon weaved his way through boxes and cartons until he arrived at a blank wall. Pushing aside a panel, he pressed a button and a portion of the wall slid away.

Illya stopped short when he entered the room. “What is this?”

“What does it look like?”

Illya turned completely around taking in the arrangement of the room. “It looks like a bedroom.”

“Smart Russian,” said Napoleon, as he sat on the bed, removing his tie. “Nothing gets past you.”

“How did you manage…?” Illya asked taking in the large bed, matching night stands, dark paneled walls, with artwork on them; it looked like a movie set.

Napoleon had already divested himself of most of his clothing and came closer to assist Illya in the removal of his. “This is our little hide-a-way if you will. Some place we can come without prying eyes. Do you have any objections?” he asked as he reached into one of the night stands to remove a familiar tube.

No, Illya had no objections – it all fit perfectly well with his plans. One day though, he was going to get Solo to tell him how he managed it all.

A disoriented Illya woke up early the next morning under the weight of his partner. He raised his head, the only part of his body that was movable and noted where he was. A huge grin appeared on his face. “Wake up, Napoleon,” he said nudging his partner.

“What for? Feels good,” Napoleon slurred as he snuggled closer. 

“Napoleon, should we not leave before the work force of this store arrives?”

Napoleon rolled off his rather comfortable pillow and stretched. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Illya retorted as he got up, grabbing his clothes, making ready to leave.

Before leaving, Napoleon pulled him close. “How about one for the road?” he asked before claiming Illya’s lips. He was getting rather fond of those lips; he couldn’t seem to get enough of them.

Again the two boarded the subway, this time stopping at their apartments. Illya found himself looking out of the window while Napoleon showered and changed. Last night had been fun, but it just wasn’t going to work.

Napoleon came out of his bedroom, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. Illya looked like he was thinking and not happy with his thoughts. Napoleon had been thinking too. Going to the kitchen, he poured two cups of coffee and brought one over to his partner.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started.

“You can have a lot of fun that way,” Illya said absently as he took his cup.

Napoleon took a deep breath. “I think we should tell Waverly.”

“What! Are you mad?” Illya froze with shock, the cup half way to his lips.

“Possibly. But wouldn’t it be better if he found out our relationship from us and not from another source?”

“What relationship? We had sex twice. That is all there is to it.”

Napoleon put down his cup. He reached over and grabbed Illya’s chin, his eyes flashing angrily. “Don’t give me that. Admit it…I wanted it…you wanted it.”

Illya jerked his head away, unable to meet Napoleon’s angry gaze. “Okay. We tell him,” he said dismally. “Then what?”

Napoleon took another deep breath, his anger dissipated. “I don’t know.”

Arriving at headquarters, the two men entered through the agents’ entrance in silence. While the receptionist pinned on their badges, Napoleon asked, “Sweetheart, could you check and see if Mr. Waverly is free to see us?” 

“Sure, Napoleon,” she said as she picked up the phone.

Illya pulled Napoleon to the side. “Is this wise?”

“The sooner the better,” Napoleon stated before turning back to the receptionist.

“He can see you right now.” She informed them.

***

Once they arrived in Waverly’s office, they took their usual seats around the conference table.

Without looking up from his work, Waverly asked gruffly. “Is there something I can do for you, gentlemen?”

Napoleon cleared his throat. Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure how to start. He looked over to Illya who sat there stiffly. Evidently, he was not going to get any help from that quarter. “Well sir, it is like this…”

Mr. Waverly slammed down the pen he was holding and picked up his pipe. “If this is about that little hide-a-way of yours – don’t bother,” he said pointing the pipe stem in Solo’s direction.

Illya threw a quick glance in Solo’s direction. Solo sat there, his mouth open.

Waverly sat back in his chair. “There was a time, before your time of course; serious consideration was given to agents sharing quarters. Budgetary restraints and response times were the primary reason. However, the fact that our opponents could somehow manage to take out two agents at one time was the key reason that it was abandoned. Perhaps now would be a good time to rethink it.” 

He picked up a pen, making a note on a sheet of paper. “What you do on your own time is your business as long as you remain discrete and your job performance does not suffer.” He looked up at the two young men. “Do I make my self clear?”

His two top agents nodded.

“Well if that is all…” Waverly went back to his work.

Napoleon and Illya, slightly dazed, got up, and headed for the door.

“Oh, gentlemen…” Waverly called after them. “If this union should produce any progeny, I expect the first to be named after me,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

The two agents were halfway to the elevator when Napoleon broke the silence. “He was joking…wasn’t he?”

Illya shook his head as he entered the elevator, a frown on his face, planning to go down to the lab.

“What?” Napoleon said as he grabbed the elevator door to keep it from closing.

“It is just…now that we have freedom to do what we want…when we want.” Illya hesitated.

“Yes.”

“It sort of takes the fun out of it,” Illya finished.

Napoleon grunted as he let the door loose, shutting out the wicked look in Illya’s eyes.

The End.


End file.
